


Written in the Blood

by FrauleinVelveteen



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 05:34:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6643435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrauleinVelveteen/pseuds/FrauleinVelveteen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elethea Cousland is dying. The Blight is in her lungs, the Calling haunts her in the Fade, and for the past decade she has been focused on one single goal: finding a cure. With her time running short, that objective should have become more important. However, now that the battle at Adamant has fractured the Wardens and the dissolution of the Inquisition has left a power vacuum in Thedas as the world prepares for another war with the Qunari, old friends are calling her back to the world stage.  [Takes place after Trespasser]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Written in the Blood

**Author's Note:**

> The story will, for the most part, follow game canon only.
> 
> Beta-readers are needed, so if interested, please contact me.

     The ebb and flow of the Fade carried a distinct melody, thin and tremulous but barbed and able to catch the soul to tear it. The notes anchored themselves in the edges of the mind, pulled at it with a slow but strong force that never wavered. Whenever in the Fade, even with her faculties completely about her, Elethea could feel its beckon. The Calling—the name didn’t do it justice, didn’t fully convey just how invasive it was. It was almost violating and made all the worse by the part of her that yearned to let it wash over her mind. The waking world brought relief—the Call had yet to follow her there—but when even that was suffused with the haunting song she didn’t know how she’d keep her wits about her. In the Fade, there was a counter song, something that kept her grounded. Whether it was a figment of her mind that tried to keep her rooted or the voice of a spirit who took pity on her, she didn’t know. She was almost certain, though, that it would not follow her when she woke up. Though, if it did, perhaps then she’d know for sure it was the illusion of a stressed mind. The counter song, as real or imagined as it was, could only do so much for her, however, before there was nothing in her mind but the two warring melodies.

     The memories she shifted through slipped through her fingers, their temporary physical forms dissolving into intangible light and smoke as her concentration wavered. She could only spend so much time in the Fade these days before her mind frayed from the pull of both songs. With a disgruntled sigh, she pushed herself up from the outcropping of luminescent rock she’d been sitting on. Memories were fickle things to begin with, their strength only tied to the power the spirits of the Fade lent them. If she were to be honest with herself her attempts to eek memories from objects in the waking world that had no reflection in the Fade were worse than futile. She couldn’t force something to have enough emotional power to draw in spirits to reenact events tied to it. Perhaps summoning spirits and—

     Her attention snapped as a refrain from the Calling forced her thoughts briefly to the distant Black City, floating ever at the edge of her awareness in the Fade. She dragged her attention away, focusing on anything but the song that seemed to emanate from it. The ache in her hands from hours of working magic, the unearthly physics of the structures around her, even the heaviness of her breath that belied the existence of failing health. With a sardonic twist of the lips, she wondered if the blight in her lungs would kill her before the Calling’s song could drive her to the Deep Roads. Death by drowning in her own tainted blood, or a Warden’s death? Which was worse? Did it even matter anymore? It was hard to decide when running against a quickly draining hourglass. If the struggle to concentrate hadn’t been enough indication to wake up, the direction her breathing had turned was. She would, at the very least, need to wake up long enough to take a drought of potion.

     Elethea closed her eyes and felt the world shift around her. A jolt awoke her fully as the cart she rode in went through a divot in the road.

     “....you can’t _honestly_ think that, can you?”

     “If you’d seen their argument-”

     “But is that _really_ reason enough to risk dividing the Order? The First’s a bastard who doesn’t get along with anyone, but he’s never revoked a Commander’s rank before.”

     “He threatened to do so if she left Weisshaupt. And where are we? _Not bloody Weisshaupt._ ”

     Elethea opened her eyes a sliver to look at the two arguing men. It surprised her, if only briefly, that for once it was Carver being rational. Typically Nathaniel was the voice of reason when they butted heads which, she’d found since they’d left the Anderfels with her, happened several times a day. She’d given up mediating between them after the second week on the road. She opened her eyes fully and spoke. “We left weeks ago. If the First threw another tantrum and finally decided to kick me out, we’d know.”

     The two men turned to look at her, surprised, as she pushed herself upright from the stack of hay she’d been leaning against. Hitching rides in the back of farm carts was hardly the ideal way to travel, but at least there were no animals joining them. Well, no animals aside from Rastus. The mabari dozed happily in a pile of loose hay, ears and nose twitching as he dreamed. Elethea rummaged in the hay pile he occupied for her pack and, upon finding it, pulled from it a flask of potion. The viscous red-brown liquid was hardly appealing, but months of taking the brew regularly was enough to wear out any sense of disgust.

     “Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping?” Nathaniel’s brow furrowed, and it only deepened when he watched as she pulled the flask of tempered glass from her pack.

     “I wasn’t aware I was _supposed_ to do anything.” She uncorked the flask and took a long drink, the potion thick like mucus and just as unpleasant to swallow. At least the brandy she brewed that particular batch with made it easier tolerate taste-wise. As she wiped her mouth and re-corked the flask, both Nathaniel and Carver looked away, mild disgust on their faces. She knew that just the sight of the potion sloshing in the flash made them sick, and she didn’t blame them. It’d taken her weeks to stop gagging just from brewing it.

     Satisfied that her companions were done with their argument, she returned the flask to her bag and pulled out a letter. Or, rather, the most recent letter in her collection. She kept a great deal of the letters she was sent, a fact plain to anyone who peered into her pack. She was sentimental to a dangerous degree with her correspondences, and she knew it. The space the letters took up could be better used for something else, something essential, but instead of burning them when room ran out she just bought bigger packs and dealt with the increased weight.

     The particular letter she pulled out, however, remained in her possession for good reason. It was an invitation, after all, and she’d need it once they reached their destination. Elethea carefully tucked the invitation into a pocket for easy access and took a moment to assess the position of the sun. They were in the last leg of their trip, en route to Jader from a smaller port city to the east, and Elethea had originally guessed their time of arrival to be in the afternoon. The sun, which hung heavy in the west, told her she’d been wrong.

     It took near an hour from when she awoke for the cart to finally reach the outskirts of the city, and by then the sun had began to set. With aching joints and a stiff back, she got off the cart at the city gates and paid the driver. With her companions at her side and Rastus at her heels, she lead the way into the city.

 

     Elethea had only been to Jader once, when she was sixteen. It was the first time she’d ever left Ferelden, and her father couldn’t keep her from wandering off. The need to travel, to be on the move, had been instinctual to her even then. A result, she figured, of having been kept sequestered at the family’s estate for most of her life. The Couslands had not been known to produce mages, and her parents had used that to their advantage when they elected not to send her to the Circle when she began to show signs of being one. Precaution had ruled everything nonetheless, though. She was almost eight the first time she’d been allowed outside of the castle’s walls, and only because the whole family had been invited to Denerim for some celebration or other. Jader, though, was the first real taste of travel. At sixteen, she’d been too eager and too curious for her father to handle. She slipped out of sight at the first opportunity, over confident in her rogue-like skills and the dexterity she had with the daggers she carried. No ill had befallen her during the trip, but the sheer amount of panic she’d caused for her father had ensured she wouldn’t go on any other trips outside country with him for a long while. As it turned out, it would be the last trip she ever went on with a family member. A year and a half after the trip to Jader, she was riding to Ostagar.

     As Elethea wove her way through the city, bitter nostalgia pricked at her insides. The once-fascinating city was tainted with the memory of her father, and that memory pressed down on her shoulders with the weight of mountains. She grit her teeth as she walked past familiar buildings, her eyes focused only on the roads and pathways the letter suggested she take. She left no time for her companions to dawdle, and blessedly neither of them complained. When they reached the small estate the letter named, she flashed the invitation to the guards and entered before they could open the doors or announce her.

     The interior of the manor was spartan compared to Orlesian standards, with few paintings and more wood than marble. It would have been pleasant, if lit properly. As it were, there was hardly any light outside of that which spilled from a doorway into what could only be the parlor. Elethea headed for the doorway, taking it to be where she was supposed to go.

     The parlor was bare, save for a roughly made table and several chairs around it, and lit by a fireplace that took up most of the far wall. Sitting at the table was an elven woman with bobbed white-blonde hair, who promptly looked up when Elethea entered.

     “Ah, you must be the Warden-Commander,” she said, smiling politely as she got up.

     Normally the woman’s vallaslin would have drawn Elethea’s attention, but when the skeletal wooden prosthetic the woman had on her left arm came into view Elethea couldn’t help but stare. Runes on the joints of the prosthetic wrist and hand glowed blue—inlaid with lyrium, no doubt. After a moment she forced her eyes away, aware that she was verging on being rude. “I apologize for staring. Your prosthetic is impressive.”

     The woman shrugged. “It’s alright, everyone stares. Especially when it moves.” With a mischievous look in her eye, the prosthetic moved and waved the wooden hand dismissively. It was a rough, clunky movement, but Elethea could feel the magic that went into it. The woman, seeing the look of astonishment on Elethea’s face, chuckled. “Neat party trick, huh? Now, you are Warden-Commander Cousland, right? As fun as it is amazing people, I’d like to know if I’m impressing the right person.”

     Elethea gave a short nod, a small smile of her own tugging at the corners of her lips. “I am.”

     “Good. I’m Fenera’Lin.” The woman stepped forward and offered her hand. Up close, Elethea had to look down to meet her gaze. Most other women—and some men—were short compared to Elethea, but Fenera’Lin was particularly diminutive.

     Elethea, feeling almost awkward for being so tall, shook Fenera’Lin’s hand. As she pulled her hand away, something clicked in the back of her mind. The name, the missing arm, her presence in the manor. “You must be the former Inquisitor Lavellan.”

     “It’s not Lavellan anymore, but yes.” She didn’t comment on her former position, and the look in her amber-hued eyes suggested to Elethea that she was still displeased with the disbanding of the Inquisition.  Fenera’Lin gestured to a chair and continued. “Take a seat, all of you.” She looked at Nathaniel and Carver, who hovered at the doorway with uncertainty, and offered them a smile. “I’ll go get the Divine. You,” she looked back to Elethea, her light-brown eyes meeting Elethea’s pale green ones with surprising intensity and seriousness, “might want to take a moment to... think, in the meantime. I’m guessing you know why you’re here.”

     The elven woman left through a door next to the fireplace, her steps light. Elethea walked over to the table, but didn’t take a seat. She looked at the invitation again, at writing she had recognized as Leliana’s before even looking past her name on the envelope. Fenera’Lin was right, she had a sinking suspicion about the reason for being summoned to Jader—and it _was_ a summons, there was no question posed or request made in the letter despite the friendly language. She knew, by word of mouth, that the former Inquisitor had been named the Right Hand of the Divine shortly after the dissolution of the Inquisition. She knew Leliana, as Divine, would need a Left Hand as well. The few letters they’d exchanged since Leliana’s ascension to Divine had hinted that she thought Elethea a good choice. It was made light of, of course—Leliana was smart enough to know she had to test the waters first. Elethea had thought she’d deflected the topic well enough to dissuade her, however, but now she doubted that.

     Tucking the letter away, Elethea looked at the fire crackling behind the wrought-iron gate of the fireplace. Absentmindedly, she rubbed the scar on her neck as she considered how to refuse should the question be posed. The scar, which in its entirety stretched from her left brow, down her cheek and neck, and down her chest and stomach to her right hip, was hardly comforting to feel. It had healed well since she got it during the Blight, but she’d come close to dying from blood loss and then infection. She didn’t touch it to feel comfort in her continued existence, though, she touched it to remember how short life was. Did she have the time to serve a Divine?

     Rastus butted his head against her leg, drawing her thoughts away. She looked down at him, his large eyes watching her in return. Rastus was young, only three years old, but he had been easy to train. If she looked closely, she could see her first mabari in him. Kel had been more pale in color, though, more prone to digging up campsites and trying to play the nursemaid where Rastus was darker and more interested in hunting. Still, Rastus was as much of a glutton for attention as Kel had been, and so Elethea rubbed his ears and smiled as he leaned against her.

     The door beside the fireplace reopened, and when Elethea looked up she was surprised to see Leliana dressed in plain clothes rather than the habit and robe of a Divine. She only got a moment to be surprised, however, before her friend crossed the room to pull her into a tight hug. The sudden affection left Elethea immobile, but after a moment of hesitation she returned the embrace. “Surely it hasn’t been _that_ long since we’ve seen each other,” Elethea said lightly before pulling away.

     “Five years isn’t long to you?” Leliana frowned, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Still, it was enough to cause Elethea to avert her gaze in mild shame. Leliana was one of her closest friends, and she felt as if she’d been neglectful towards her for not visiting.

     “I...”

     Leliana lifted a hand, silencing her. “Don’t. You can air your regrets later. For now, please sit.”

     Feeling a touch chastised, Elethea finally took a seat. “I don’t remember if I mentioned in my response, but you managed to get that letter to me just as I was leaving Weisshaupt.”

     “You didn’t,” Leliana began, taking the chair opposite her, “but I heard from Warden Rainier that you had quite the conversation with the First Warden before you left.”

     From the back of the room Elethea heard Carver snort and ask Nathaniel, under his breath, “How the hell did he get here before us? We left _first_.”

     “He sent a letter, actually.” It was Fenera’Lin who spoke up, having re-entered the room silently. A dissatisfied grunt was the only response that came from Carver.

     “He did,” Leliana confirmed, her attention still fully on the warden across from her. Elethea got the impression that she recognized the conversation for what it was: a delaying tactic. “The way he tells it, the First is blaming you for the continued division among the Wardens.”

     Elethea shrugged indifferently and folded her arms. The accusations the First had leveled at her bit deep, but she was good at playing aloof. “The First divided them when he approved of Clarel’s actions. He’s just sore that I didn’t want the Wardens under my command to have any part of it.” Had she been in Ferelden when the news first came through, she would have ordered her men underground, to the Deep Roads, away from the demon-summoning nonsense. But she hadn’t been there. Not for years. She was an absentee commander, and people had died because of it. Her support of the wardens rebelling from the Order had roots in her guilt as much as it did her morals.

     “Perhaps, but Rainier told us that he’s given the order to bar you from even contacting Weisshaupt.” Leliana’s tone was carefully neutral. Elethea, in turn, kept her expression carefully neutral. The only reaction to the news came from Nathaniel, who muttered an ‘I told you’ to Carver.

     “Well,” Elethea said, after the silence had stretched on long enough, “that’s a milder action that what he claimed he’d do. It’s progress for him, though, usually he does nothing. Terribly flighty, that one. Blusters on and on and then sits and twiddles his thumbs like nothing happened. A natural politician.”

     Fenera’Lin arched a brow. “You’re awfully nonchalant about this. Won’t it get in the way of your research if you can’t contact them for funding?”

     “I’m resourceful.” The response came lightly and without hesitation, but in truth she’d been worried about that since leaving the Anderfels.

     “Perhaps we could be of help?” Leliana’s tone was equally light, but Elethea knew better. She saw the chance to turn the conversation and she took it. “You know why I wanted to speak with you, in person.”

     “So I’d be easier to convince?” Elethea responded dryly. Leliana gave a faint smile in response.

     “I look opportunistic, don’t I?” The lack of response gave her all she needed for an answer and she sighed. “Things are unstable. We need people who we can trust-”

     “ _We_?”

     “Myself, Lin, the remnants of the Inquisition.”

     Elethea’s brow furrowed. She could practically smell the intrigue brewing, and she wanted to bolt for the door. “The Inquisition disbanded.”

     “Out of necessity,” Fenera’Lin interjected. She opened her mouth to continue speaking, but paused, eyes flicking to Leliana. Leliana nodded, and Fenera’Lin continued. “The politics of it were bad enough, what with the Emperor trying to pick fights over Ferelden’s displeasure with Inquisition forces remaining in their country. But then we were... compromised.”

     Elethea raised a brow. “Qunari spies? Everyone from here to Tevinter has been paranoid about them.”

     “No, though that’s a problem, too. A former-” Fenera’Lin cut herself off, expression twisting as she struggled for the right word. “Someone who we thought was an ally turned out to be a bigger danger than the Qunari. You’ve heard of the elves leaving cities and villages? People think the Dalish are finally convincing them to join the clans, but they aren’t. This... former ally, he’s behind it, and his plans... well, they’d make the Breach look like child’s play.”

     Elethea was silent for a long moment as she struggled to put things into proper perspective. She only knew so much about what had happened with the Breach. “He wants to... tear the Veil open again? Create another rift into the Fade?”

     “He wants to _remove_ the Veil entirely.”

     “Maker’s blood, what a lunatic,” Elethea sighed, slouching back in her chair. “And naturally this had to happen when tensions with Par Vollen are at their breaking point. Everyone will be too focused on preventing all-out war to notice anything else.”

     Leliana nodded. “With the Inquisition disbanded, we no longer have the manpower to approach this directly. Even if we did, though, a direct approach would leave us vulnerable; we’d draw attention to ourselves and become a target. A smaller force, however, led by the Hands of the Divine under the pretense of protection and security? Hands can move with impunity, and with the automatic assumption that they’re working on behalf of the Chantry.”

     Elethea folded her arms, considering what was said carefully. The threat of double-agents must be great if such effort was put into misleading everyone. “And you want me to assume the role of your Left Hand? To... _play_ at being an agent of the Chantry while actually helping an unofficial Inquisition?” She sighed, leaning forward again and propping her elbows on the table. “That’s a large responsibility, Leliana. Ignoring that I’m still a ranked officer in the Grey Wardens, I haven’t been spending the past decade sitting on my hands.”

     “With Weisshaupt barred to you, do you really think you’ll be able to fund your travels for much longer? And what of when word spreads about your falling out with the First? Wardens are no longer trusted by the people of Thedas, not like they were. How do you think ones abandoned by the Order are viewed?”

     Elethea clenched her jaw, unwilling to admit the Leliana was right. “And if I were to become your Left Hand? You’d allow me to continue my research?”

     “Of course. All I ask is that you help us. In return, I’ll provide whatever aid I can to help you. A cure for the Blight would benefit more than just the Wardens, after all, and no one would question why a Divine would want to support the one looking for it.”

     “Your support doesn’t require me to be your Left Hand, though.”

     “...No, it does not.” Leliana frowned, her features softening just a touch. “If you truly don’t want to take the role... I will not force you. And I would still lend you my aid if that was your choice.” ‘If,’ ‘was,’ her expression may have softened but Elethea knew she was still angling for her acquiescence. “As my Left Hand, though, you’ll have more at you disposal through position alone. You wouldn’t need to go through me to get anything.”

     Elethea held back a sigh, but the act made her lungs itch. She slowed her breathing to stave off the need to cough. “So long as I can continue my research… fine.” It felt like a mistake, agreeing to the position after a short conversation, but she couldn’t deny the benefits. The College of Enchanters might even be more amenable to her requests to look through their archives. “I’ll be your Left Hand.”

     Leliana nodded, the satisfaction of the decision evident on her face. There was relief there, too. “Thank you, Elle. I wouldn’t have asked you if I didn’t think you were capable of what it would take to fill the role.”

     Elethea nodded as her gaze strayed to the fireplace. The itch in her lungs turned to an ache, but she continued to repress the need to cough as best she could. “I hope you don’t mind, but I should start looking for an inn before it gets too late. We’ve been traveling for two months, and I’m exhausted.” Mostly she wanted to leave so she could cough without risking questions about the blood that would fleck her lips and handkerchief, but the fatigue was also genuine. She looked back to Leliana, who in turn watched her with carefully.

     “There are enough rooms for you and your men here. Pick whichever ones you want.” Leliana stood and gestured to the door she’d entered from. “Through there, up the first flight of stairs.”

     Elethea stood as well and after a quick ‘goodnight’ to Leliana and Fenera’Lin, left with Nathaniel, Carver, and Rastus at her heels.

 

  
     Once the wardens had left, the door closed behind them, Fenera’Lin turned to Leliana. “I think that went well,” she said lightly. “I expected there to be reminiscing, though, not for things to end so… abruptly.” It was hard for her to tell—picking up on subtle changes in expression and body language wasn’t something she excelled at—but it looked as if Leliana was exhausted by the conversation. Something in the eyes and the turn of the lips.

     “I suspect the journey here was harder on her than she let on. She looked pale, and her breathing had gotten slower and more shallow before she left.”

     Fenera’Lin hadn’t noticed, but then again, she’d been more focused on trying to gauge how trustworthy the two male wardens who’d arrived with Elethea were. “If she’s ill, then perhaps we shouldn’t have asked her to be your Left Hand.”

     “We don’t have many candidates to choose from. She’s the most qualified for the role.”

     “What about Hawke?”

     “I don’t know if Hawke would be able to do what’s needed of a Left Hand.”

     “But Warden Cousland can?”

     “She done similar things before.”

     Fenera’Lin began to question what ‘things’ those might be, but Leliana cut her off with a wave of the hand and excused herself. Lin was left in the room alone, feeling as if she was the only one unaware of something important. With a slight frown, she leaned against the table and watched the fire. Perhaps she could get Charter to dig up some information for her, find out what exactly Elethea had done to make her so qualified. Assuming Charter would even be allowed to; Leliana could stop Charter if she knew and felt so compelled.

     Sighing, she pushed herself upright and headed back to her own quarters. She wasn’t sure she could get a full dossier when she’d barely gotten a decent physical description of Elethea. ‘Red hair,’ she’d been told, but she’d expected red in the same way Leliana’s was, in that sunset orange hue. She hadn’t expected such a _true_ red, dark and rich like wine. She’d been told Elethea was tall, but she hadn’t expected her to be nearing six feet in height. The only thing that had truly connected Elethea to the description Lin got was the scar. She wondered, idly, what the story behind it was. How did someone get a scar like that in battle? For a single scar to be so long, wouldn’t the person in question have needed to be immobile? The thought of being rendered immobile, by being pinned or just hit with a paralysis spell, long enough for something like that to happen unnerved her. Especially if it was from, as she assumed, darkspawn.

     Fenera’Lin pushed the thought of being pinned by darkspawn from her head. She wanted to be able to sleep that night, and such thoughts wouldn’t help with that.


End file.
